


but the fighter still remains

by oneorangeshoelace



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Boxing, M/M, Reporters, Stonewall Riots, simon and garfunkel, tags are hard you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneorangeshoelace/pseuds/oneorangeshoelace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to get all heavy on you, man, I’m sorry," Jack said, biting his lip. "Look, if you—if there’s any way you could keep some of that out of the papers—if I’m being honest, I only really meant to tell you all that, not the whole world."</p>
            </blockquote>





	but the fighter still remains

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user enjolrasthesocialjusticeblogger for the prompt "javid, 'Are you flirting with me?'" I ended up with an AU that I've been knocking around where Jack Kelly is a professional boxer and David is a reporter who ends up interviewing him. This story takes place in 1972.

"No. No, come on, no. You know I can’t do that."

"What? Yes, you can. David, you’re one of the best writers we have. And you have a very keen mind, very incisive."

"That’s just it, Bryan! I’m a writer, I’m a critic—I write book reviews! I can’t just interview a boxer, I know nothing about boxing!"

"Come on, you’re not being very fair to yourself."

"Well—what about Blink? Why can’t he do it?"

"Blink can’t do it because he’s out sick. Which, if I’m being honest, is actually why I came to you in the first place—this interview is too exclusive to cancel just because we don’t have a competent sports writer. Now, the interview is at seven, which gives you plenty of time to prepare. His name is Jack Kelly, he’s very up and coming, and he won an incredibly important fight yesterday, he’s twenty-five, he doesn’t smile much, he’s a Gemini, he likes long walks on the beach, those last two were lies. Here’s his hotel room address, now go forth and prosper. And don’t let me down!"  
"I hate you."

"Sure."  
*****

David showed up to the hotel at 6:30. Realizing on some level that he was uncomfortably early, he wandered around on the street nearby the hotel and then wandered the hotel itself, trying not to let his nerves overcome him. At 6:59, he took one last steadying deep breath and knocked on the door that matched the room number he had been given.  
The man who answered the door was—well, kind of gorgeous, David thought, and his anxiety increased beyond where it had been earlier. Damn. Damn. 

”Can I assume that you’re the reporter from the Sun?” the man asked. He looked tired, or maybe weary. David could tell that he was making a concerted effort to keep his tone light and pleasant—personable.

"Ye-es," David said slowly. "Can I assume that you’re Jack Kelly?" Smooth. Not smooth. Ugh.

Regardless of the level of smoothness, Jack cracked a slight smile at this, which David found a little too entrancing. “You can. Come on in, have a seat, I guess.”

When they were seated and had looking at each other silently for about a beat too long, David searched desperately for an opening question. “So—you won the fight yesterday. Er—how did that feel?”

Jack quirked a smile at him. “Oh, yeah, sure. It felt pretty good—pretty amazing. I mean, my manager was sure excited about it, too. Probably means that there’s gonna be a little extra money rolling in now, so I feel good about that. Listen—this is your first interview, isn’t it?”

David tried not to jump a little at that, but mostly failed. “Uh—well, yeah. How’d you know?”

Jack’s smile grew a little at that. “I can just kinda tell. Do you even work for the Sun?”

"I most certainly do! I am the Sun’s foremost literary critic!" David said, outraged.

"You sure you’re old enough for that?" Jack teased.

"I’m twenty-three, for fuck’s sake!"

"Good heavens. Such language."

David sputtered for a second, trying to figure out where to go from there.  
"Aw, listen," Jack said after a moment, "I’m sorry. I was just teasing you a little. It gets boring, when everything you do is fights and interviews and traveling, and interviews and traveling and fights. I usually fuck around with the old farts who interview me and I really wasn’t expecting someone like you. I’ll be good now, I promise. I’ll even tell the truth a little bit, and I don’t do that much. So."

"So," David echoed, scrambling to get his mind back on track.

"Well, what do you want to ask me?"

"What do you want to tell me?" David countered.

"Oh, I’m really starting to like you. What did you say your name was again?"

"Oh, I guess I actually didn’t say. I’m David—uh, David Jacobs."

"David," Jack drawled, and David tried not to look like he was melting, reminding himself that he was a professional. “So, David, what do you know about me?”

"Well, you grew up in Manhattan—so did I, by the way—not a lot is known about your family—sorry, that’s probably a sensitive topic—you love boxing and you pursued it as your passion when—"

"See, now, that’s bullshit," Jack interrupted.

David smiled softly. “I suspected as much.”

"Well, maybe you’re cut out for this after all, Davey." David opened his mouth to tell him that no one really called him Davey, just David, but Jack barrelled on. "Y’see, growing up poor as shit—well, I better say ‘dirt’ if this is gonna be in the papers—growing up poor as dirt in Manhattan, you gotta know how to fight. You know what I’m talking about, Davey?"

"Yes," David confirmed quietly, starting to think that maybe he liked the nickname.

"Well, when you ain’t got any money, and your parents might as well be dead for all the good they’re doing you and maybe one of them actually is dead—I said maybe, don’t go telling tales—and you were never much good at school anyway but you still wanna make something of yourself and you’ve been fighting your whole life and you’re good at it—I mean, it makes sense to just kind of keep fighting. Even if you hate it. Even if you still kind of feel sick when you see blood." The words rushed out of him in a way that made David suspect that they had been bottled up for a very long time. Jack looked like he already sort of wished he could take them back, but David had already written them down in his neat shorthand.

"I see," David said quietly, after a pause.

"Look, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to get all heavy on you, man, I’m sorry," Jack said, biting his lip. "Look, if you—if there’s any way you could keep some of that out of the papers—if I’m being honest, I only really meant to tell you all that, not the whole world."

David’s heart picked up speed. “What makes me any different?” he asked when he caught his breath, looking up to hold Jack’s gaze.  
"Well, I guess I don’t really know, I just kinda trust something about you," Jack said carefully, and then: "Wow, your eyes are really blue. It’s kind of intimidating.”

David looked back down at his notepad immediately, but was horrified to realize that he could feel his face flushing. Couldn’t he get through one conversation with a cute guy without almost outing himself? Although he was kind of starting to think that Jack actually wanted—Nope. Better to shut down that train of thought immediately.

"Well now," David said, clearing his throat, "was there anything else that you feel prepared to tell me? If not, I have actually prepared my own questions, despite what you may think about my level of professionalism."

"Aw, come on, you’re the most competent interviewer I’ve had in ages, you know I was just joking. Anyway—well, there was something I was going to say, but it’s a little goofy."

"I’m sure it isn’t."

"Well—have you heard that Simon and Garfunkel song from—maybe two years ago? ‘The Boxer’?"

"Yes, I’m familiar with it."

"Yeah. Well, sometimes when I listen to it I think it’s about me, is all."Jack looked as though he were expecting a specific reaction.

"That’s a very sad song," was all David could think to say.

Jack shrugged a little uncomfortably. “I guess so, yeah. Well, I mean—anyways—what were the questions you brought with you?”

"Oh! Well—" David began, looking down at his notes. "Well, none of them seem quite appropriate now."

"Oh, please just ask me," Jack pleaded. "You’re the first person I’ve genuinely enjoyed talking to in about eight months. Just—I don’t know, ask me things. Or I could ask you things!"

"This hasn’t been a real interview since the moment I walked in, has it?" David asked tiredly.

Jack grinned impishly. “Not as such.”

"Well, then. I don’t know, tell me what you like to do when you’re not boxing."

"Oh, I read a lot. Not much else to do when you move from place to place as much as I do, currently."

"Well, what do you read?"

"Oh, you know. Walt Whitman, W.H. Auden, Oscar Wilde, James Baldwin—hey, why’d you stop writing?"

"Tell me more about your childhood," David said abruptly, trying to get away from discussions of those particular authors. He was sure Jack was trying to mess with him now, but he wasn’t sure why.

"My childhood? Well, I mean, I grew up in Manhattan, actually not that far from where the Stonewall Riots ended up taking place. Hey, what d’you know about those, Davey?"

Were they really back to this? David cleared his throat delicately. “I don’t know that much, since I wasn’t there, but I know a little bit. Mainly because a few of my friends were involved.”

Jack’s face closed off, with no sign of the allegedly rare smile that he had had for most of the interview. “You got friends on the NYPD, Davey?” he asked carefully, and then seemed to change his mind and continue more lightly, “Well, I mean, I guess that makes sense, a reporter guy like you having friends among the—”

"No, I’m not—personally acquainted with any police officers," David said, regretting the words as he said them.

"Oh! Yeah, good. I knew you were one of the good ones."

"Not a lot of people would classify me as ‘one of the good ones’ for that reason," David commented mildly.

"Yeah, true," Jack said, grinning again, just a little dopey. 

After staring at each other for a few seconds, David finally blurted, “Are you flirting with me?”

"So what if I am?" Jack shot back, carefully neutral.

"Well, I mean, if you are, this article doesn’t have to be ready until the evening edition tomorrow. So—I—I don’t exactly have anywhere specific to be for the next few hours. Well, I mean—God, I don’t do this very much, can you tell? i’m totally clueless."

"Well, here’s a clue: This can be the part where you shut up and kiss me." 

"Oh God, you’re corny as hell."

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk to me about this or you have any questions or if you just want to say hi, you can find me at oneorangeshoelace.tumblr.com !


End file.
